


With One Eye Open

by LCNH1



Series: WWE Thrallverse [10]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22310521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LCNH1/pseuds/LCNH1
Summary: Buddy Murphy knocked on Aleister Black's door.It opened him up for more than just a fight.
Series: WWE Thrallverse [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1251434
Kudos: 6





	With One Eye Open

**With One Eye Open…..**

Aleister Black sat in the relative discomfort of his own locker room, a place of quiet and solace for him. 

All of the noise backstage tore at him.  _ All  _ of it. 

The cackling laughter and shouts of the Street Profits. The blathering voices of the IIconics and Seth Rollins’ chest-thumping about being a locker room leader. The constant clatter of dozens of other superstars chasing R-Truth and that ugly 24/7 title. 

He’d have no interest in Kevin Owens’ grousing or the OC’s arrogance. He chose to make his message so simple to everyone on the roster. He would sit in a space of near darkness of that uncomfortable locker room, and put out message after message for someone to come to him.

He’d done this for weeks. No one responded. This only irritated him further, his Left Hand clenched and seeping the yellow-green poison of the Eye in that palm. Each tattoo glimmered in silent protest to his sedentary choice. 

Tonight, he would have someone come. He paced the room in abject frustration before dropping abruptly into his chair. He just didn’t understand. It was the simplest thing that he could conjure. Why  _ was  _ this so difficult? A show that’s mostly about fighting, for reasons ranging from jockeying for titles to spilled coffee. Why could no one come to him?

He’d been punished for months. He recalled his butting heads with Demon Balor and Ricochet backstage at Wrestlemania. He had a sneaking suspicion that had kept him from competing much since that time, including not being permitted on the plane to the last Saudi Arabia show. He’d spoken to Hunter about that last issue, simply being told that the jumble of sigils maybe taken wrong religiously overseas. He thought that might have kept Mustafa Ali on American soil, as it had Sami Zayn. Yet Ali went, even if all he’d done was participate in the battle royale. 

He’d be sure that no one knocking would walk away unscathed. There’d be no child’s chase of Ding, Dong, Ditch. He’d carefully magicked the door with a geas that even Others like Ricochet could not detect, and their contact with the portal would only give them the need to seek him out if they chose not to enter. He will have his fight. He WILL have an altercation that is more in his control. 

He dimmed the lights further, only allowing the blood red candles to simmer with his mood. While he savored how off-putting he can be to even the Blindest of foes, how does that keep them from challenging him? What more does he have to do? He snarled in futility and waved the candles out. Maybe if he spoke to Ricochet, maybe his former tag team partner chased them from his door - 

In that darkness where he momentarily lost himself in thought, he nearly missed the knock on his door. Three forearm beats. Startled, his Left Hand waved the lights back on as he stared in the direction of said knock. The realization that someone had finally heard him left him incredulous and momentarily paralyzed. 

“ALEISTER BLACK!” a voice announced from the hall. “I AM HERE TO PICK A FIGHT WITH YOU!” 

The voice had a tinge of arrogance, mocking Black’s sometimes stilted cadence when he spoke. Fuming, he gathered his studded leather jacket before storming to the door.

He sensed no one outside his door when he opened it. The hallway remained empty. Whoever it was, it was a wrestler who did not Understand - maybe not even Know - what he had just started. 

The geas was active. Whoever that fool was, he would come back.

\-----------------------------------

Buddy Murphy sneered at the door as no one came to answer it. “Just as I thought,” he spat. “All talk.”

He shrugged his shoulders and resumed his march to the ring, ready to add another win to his resume. It had been an interesting few months for him - running afoul of Roman Reigns, standing up to him and eventually working with him against Daniel Bryan and Erick Rowan before he was drafted to Raw, where he had been picking apart some of his competition formerly of 205 Live. Cedric Alexander? Could match his fluidity in the ring and still had a strength advantage. Akira Tozawa? Might have issue with speed, but could easily overpower and outlast him in an actual fight.

Tozawa’s strikes had speed and accuracy behind them but not as much power. Murphy gave his smaller opponent a look of curious offense, trying to figure out if the blow meant to hurt. Tozawa swung harder but it barely slowed the Australian. Only the kicks staggered Murphy but even then not for long. He outlasted the onslaught and pinned Tozawa, the whole match an afterthought to him after his knock on Aleister’s door.

If Black kept making such a big deal out of it, why didn’t he answer? Maybe he had to knock again, never mind anything else going on. 

He glanced back only once to what was left of Tozawa before heading backstage. Normally he’d consider some extracurriculars just as a warning to his Japanese opponent about facing him again. This time, perhaps he should knock harder.

He skipped his own locker room to find Aleister again, purposefully removing some of his wrist tape as he walked. He had some other questions for Black when he knocked again, not just “Why didn’t you answer?”.

He hadn’t quite finished unraveling said tape when he found himself before that door again. The walk felt shorter this time around. The questions kept coming to his head.Unable to sort them, he simply smirked at the door itself and called to its lone occupant.

“Hey Aleister!” he shouted as he raised his right arm to pound the door anew. He never got to swing; the door nearly struck him as it flew open and the enigma that was Aleister Black slipped through, silent as the shadows he had only moments ago occupied.

Black took only two small steps from the door, his presence alone backing the Aussie up. Whatever taunts or braggadaccio Murphy had in mind dissolved under an almost tangible aura that Black exuded. The hall felt like it darkened unnaturally, and a yellowish-green hue traced the edge of Murphy’s senses. He couldn’t discern what caused it; Black’s stillness rigid as a coiled spring, daring Buddy to instigate. 

Aleister’s body barely moved, gaze looking Buddy Murphy up and down. He spotted the wad of tape wadded up from being removed. Murphy’s left hand now bare, clenched tight. 

The Left Hand. Black recognized that. The geas had hooked Murphy whether he Understood it or not.

\--------------------------------------

Neither Black nor Murphy were asked to attend Survivor Series; Black had no issue with that. Seth Rollins had become too full of himself in his desperate attempt to soothe his ego over losing his Universal title over the week of Samhain, in the time of the Aos Si. Small wonder the Fiend had so little trouble, and that influenced Rollins’ mindset heavily. Black ignored the Town Hall in favor of monitoring the geas still wrapped around Buddy Murphy.

Murphy chose to attend despite not being part of the Series. He listened to Seth spell it out for the rest of the locker room, talking of the poor showing of Raw and their solitary win against Smackdown (2 victories) and NXT (all the rest). All over his own head, he didn’t really care. This wasn’t aimed at him, and Seth can’t carry the locker room alone.  _ Screw them if they think he can,  _ he thought to himself as one by one, the performers standing outside the ring peeled away and headed to the back in defiance. Murphy only left his spot at the mass exodus, still looking up to the ring as Seth continued to talk to them, demanding they listen.

Murphy still had the previous week on his mind. Black still owed him a match. He wanted to catch him during the Town Hall, but found the tattooed freak had skipped out.  _ Sounds like he didn’t want that fight so bad, now did he?  _

Murphy’s thoughts proved almost correct when he spotted the night’s matches, and that Black would not be his opponent; Matt Hardy was curiously in town, wanting a spar with the Australian. He shrugged and returned to his own locker room to prepare.

\----------------------------------------------------

“Jonkheer Black, this INQUISEETION is not one of your regular means of inquiry! Why did you summon me here?”

Black recognized the cadence of Zenith, this other personality of Matt Hardy’s that people associated with his “Broken” or “Woken” character. The entity himself had found residence in the OMEGA graduate’s mind some time ago, but only in the last five years or so had the power to finally free himself. He liked toying with the North Carolina high-flyer’s mind and rarely hid himself from anyone else on the roster.

Zenith himself found the chaos of the wrestling business and enjoyable hobby, and this vessel welcoming him, embracing him, and occasionally letting him play has made for WONDERFUL amusement. So what would a Demon Hunter want with his services? 

“I asked you here because of Buddy Murphy,” Aleister carefully explained to the excitable entity. “It seems he is treading too close to some things that he might not be ready to See. I’m certain he’s Blind because he has not shown thrall in return to my intimidations. 

“Under the geas he tripped last week knocking on my door, I now sit in his mind and wait for him to show me something. That week has been too quiet for my taste. I want you and your ‘vessel’ to Look for yourself. I’ll address it in person soon.”

“How shall I approach this interloper from Down Under?” Zenith queried.

“Not you, Zenith. Let the vessel speak for you.”

Black slowly raised his Left Hand, showing the closed Eye in his palm. “Hide in the many minds of this man. Strike only if you choose, leave the rest to me.”

The Eye in his palm opened and glanced sidelong to the Palm Reader tattoo on Black’s chest. Zenith blinked a few times as both Eyes looked back at him, both faintly glowing with an eerie yellow-green light. From there many other eyes in his other tattoos turned to Zenith, simply reminding him that this request will be watched with great interest. 

Only now did the North Carolina twang return to Matt’s voice. “Thanks man. Enjoy the match.”

Matt offered his right hand, and they shook on the deal. Matt couldn’t feel it but Zenith danced for the Demon Hunter.

\------------------------------------

Murphy warmed up alone in the locker room, only a monitor for company. His head thumped a bit from the noise tonight, something that usually didn’t bother him. Maybe just the odd choice of opponent from the office? Facing Matt Hardy could be seen as an honor; a veteran of the business of nearly 25 years, much of it spent in WWE. He continued to ponder as the show droned on, slowed only a moment as the screen darkened.

“There are consequences to your actions, Buddy Murphy.”

The Aussie turned to the screen, startled at the direct address.

Aleister Black.

“Do you understand the repercussions of what you have done?” Black continued as if sitting in the locker room with Murphy. “Because you knocked on my door one. Week. ago. 

“But now I understand that you have a match tonight…”

Murphy sneered at the screen. “Not against you, freak!”

As if Black heard him, the Demon Hunter turned to the camera. “Well, I am coming to collect what I am owed!” Black’s voice dropped to an almost feral growl. “Your mere presence in this arena tells me that you came here to pick. a fight. with me.” 

The glare froze Murphy for only a moment, turning him away from warmups and startling him with Hardy’s music. He’d have to watch for Black during his match.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Zenith tiptoed around the recesses of Matt Hardy’s mind and prepared him for this simple match. He had his vessel tie back the messy mane to keep it clear of his own eyes to make sure he could See this “DownUnderWorlder” clearly. Zenith also sent a more visible message to Jonkheer Black by having his vessel dressed completely in black, mostly seen to others as a call back to his early career with his brother Jeff. 

Sadly this entity’s concept of time rarely followed the natural flow, and Matt emerged into the area bouncing between his many personas. Matt flashed the “Version 1” hand salute, followed by the “Delete!” arm swing. Zenith forgot himself in that brief moment and allowed Matt back in control, resuming the “V1” salute to the crowd.

Murphy arrived to little fanfare and seemed unintimidated by the legend he faced. Zenith found this opponent a little eager to get through this match - was it the Demon Hunter he preferred to face? The ponderings distracted his vessel as Murphy shoved them in the corner.

Indeed, Murphy did not recognize someone else with Matt.  _ Hunter of Demons is correct, this one is indeed Blind.  _ Zenith returned control to Matt to get the offense turned back around. 

Matt pushed back to his feet from the initial onslaught as the ref backed Murphy from him. Hardy’s vision cleared as Murphy stormed forward for a second attack. Matt staggered him with forearms, a couple of boots to the midsection, then slamming his face in a turnbuckle. 

Murphy reeled to another corner with Matt right behind. Hardy blocked the Australian in, holding him to the corner for the ten punch. 

“ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX!” The crowd counted along. Their voices drowned out Zenith, who could not resist playing along.

_ One, twice, Thrice, Ha ha,  _ Zenith followed the punches. _ Fourth, Five, Eyes -  _

Zenith suddenly interrupted as Murphy somehow doubled Matt over, snaking a kick underneath to catch Hardy in the face. Matt slumped from the blow and Murphy staggered away, right eye stinging from the corner attack. He charged back over and threw Matt into the ringpost, letting him slump to the floor.

Murphy shook his head clear, eyes watering from the blows. Matt had swung pretty hard in the corner;  _ damn concussion protocol,  _ he thought as he hopped out of the ring to close in on the dazed Hardy. His frustration quickly satisfied as he threw Hardy headfirst into the guard walls, then shoving him back into the ring, catching Matt’s hip on the apron. 

He misjudged Matt’s recovery time, dodging the incoming Hardy countering his attempt at an aerial move. Murphy tumbled to his feet and charged, only to be wrapped up in a Side Effect. Both lay stunned on the mat, this time Hardy holding his head, kicking at the canvas. Murphy rolled away, a hand on his hip and his eyes still bothering him. He feared it might truly be a concussion; the arena lights blared into his vision and the crowd rumbled a little louder in his ears. He pulled himself up in the corner before marching up to Matt, ready to respond in kind.

Zenith gave Matt a small surge of energy, allowing Hardy to escape the attack and throw a hard right to Buddy Murphy. He staggered back to the corner, not prepared for Matt advancing on him. Again the lights and sounds pounded at his senses, frustrating him further when he felt Hardy grasp him for a bulldog. He regained his footing and shoved Matt to the corner. Matt started to fight his way out, Zenith now emboldened by his vessel’s continued resilience.

“Twist! Of! Fate!” Matt called to the crowd, signaling for his finisher. Zenith chose his own words.

_ Arrogant DownUnderWorlder!  _ Zenith snarled in the back of Matt’s senses.  _ If you could See ME you would not be so frivolous in combat with my Vessel!  _

Murphy pushed to his feet with a sudden smoking rage. Hardy was taunting him after taking a couple of stiff shots at him? He shoved Matt to the ropes and charged in with a hard knee to Hardy’s face, almost tangling him in the ropes. When Hardy still managed to remain vertical he charged again, leaning more into the knee strike to make sure Hardy knew he meant business.

Murphy refused time for the ref to check on Hardy, dragging his near-unconscious body to the center of the ring. He trapped Matt’s arms and gave him one last definitive knee to the face, ensuring he wouldn’t get up again.

While the vessel lay dormant, Zenith spoke to the Demon Hunter.  _ There is blood in the waters, come and See!  _

Murphy smirked to himself as he discovered his nose bloodied from the bout. Whether it was from the right hand or the forearm, he wasn’t sure. He knew that he’d hid it from the referee, but only now could he smell it, taste it. It only made him grin wider. He signaled for a microphone while the EMTs hauled Matt Hardy’s carcass away.

“ALEISTER BLACK!” He taunted, “It is I, Buddy Murphy!” He ‘knocked’ on the microphone as a reminder. “And I’ve come! To Pick! A fight! With -”

The words being thrown back at the Demon Hunter only incensed him; all of the lights to the arena dimmed, leaving nothing but the blood red candles lighting the way. He arose from his sepulcher with angry purpose, indeed catching that trace of Murphy’s blood scent. He was in the ring in an instant, jacket cast aside and thrall aura smoking off his body in waves. Murphy backed to the other side of the ring, startled by Black’s speed and purpose.

“You chose this!” Black shouted. “You’ve no idea what you’ve started!”

Murphy’s confidence resurfaced and he charged, remembering why he’d had the microphone in the first place. His first swing missed by a mile, any other thought of offense lost in body shots, kicks and a very sudden back elbow. Reeling from the assault, he couldn’t resist as Black pushed him back to the ropes, rebounding into a thrall-bolstered knee strike that sent Murphy to the floor. 

That last blow shook Murphy’s equilibrium and snapped at something else. He couldn’t stand but he wanted to run. He couldn’t move fast enough, staggering along the guard wall and unable to turn his head toward the ring.  _ Something  _ was keeping his gaze averted. His balance wouldn’t allow him to fall back toward it, and even then he wasn’t sure if he’d get there falling toward the ring.

Black followed Murphy along the ropes of the ring, staring down like a vulture. His aura pushed Murphy back and back, back toward the ramp and out of his sight. Deep down he dared Murphy to try and regain his footing; now he also had to contend with whatever Zenith did to him.

Buddy Murphy rolled to a knee at the base of the ramp, still bothered by the blood on his nose. It wasn’t from any of Aleister’s strikes but the unholy scent urged him back toward the ring, only to find Black looming at the ropes, tacitly forbidding more violence for the moment. 

Murphy could only back away from the ring, still puzzling his bloodied nose and shaken mind. He’d have to see the trainers anyway about the bloody nose, guess concussion protocol goes with it.

Black remained in the ring to make sure Murphy left.  _ Zenith, you didn’t try to -  _

_ This DownUnderWorlder interrupted my vessel’s corner attack! It seems my own taunts and commentaries to our opponent have have had an unfortunate… Side Effect. This freedom you gave me, Hunter of Demons. Enjoy the riddle I've left you on this human. _

Black didn’t like that explanation. And if Matt didn’t come back...


End file.
